Part 2 — Scene IV.—A Tent in the Moorish Camp.

Abd. These are bold words: but hast thou look’d on death, Fair stripling? On thy cheek and sunny brow Scarce fifteen summers of their laughing course Have left light traces. If thy shaft hath pierced The ibex of the mountains, if thy step Hath climb’d some eagle’s nest, and thou hast made His nest thy spoil, ’tis much! And fear’st thou not The leader of the mighty? Alph. I have been Rear’d amongst fearless men, and midst the rocks And the wild hills, whereon my fathers fought And won their battles. There are glorious tales Told of their deeds, and I have learn’d them all. How should I fear thee, Moor? Abd. So, thou hast seen Fields, where the combat’s roar hath died away Into the whispering breeze, and where wild flowers Bloom o’er forgotten graves! But know’st thou aught Of those, where sword from crossing sword strikes fire, And leaders are borne down, and rushing steeds Trample the life from out the mighty hearts That ruled the storm so late?—Speak not of death Till thou hast look’d on such. Alph. I was not born A shepherd’s son, to dwell with pipe and crook, And peasant men, amidst the lowly vales; Instead of ringing clarions, and bright spears, And crested knights! I am of princely race; And, if my father would have heard my suit. I tell thee, infidel, that long ere now I should have seen how lances meet, and swords Do the field’s work. Abd. Boy!—know’st thou there are sights A thousand times more fearful? Men may die Full proudly, when the skies and mountains ring To battle-horn and tecbir.[276] But not all So pass away in glory. There are those, Midst the dead silence of pale multitudes, Led forth in fetters—dost thou mark me, boy?— To take their last look of th’ all-gladdening sun, And bow, perchance, the stately head of youth Unto the death of shame!—Hadst thou seen this—— Alph. (to Carlos.) Sweet brother, God is with us—fear thou not! We have had heroes for our sires:—this man Should not behold us tremble. Abd. There are means To tame the loftiest natures. Yet again I ask thee, wilt thou, from beneath the walls, Sue to thy sire for life!—or would’st thou die With this thy brother? Alph. Moslem! on the hills, Around my father’s castle, I have heard The mountain-peasants, as they dress’d the vines, Or drove the goats, by rock and torrent, home, Singing their ancient songs; and these were all Of the Cid Campeador; and how his sword Tizona[277] clear’d its way through turban’d hosts, And captured Afric’s kings, and how he won Valencia from the Moor.[278] I will not shame The blood we draw from him! [A Moorish soldier enters. Sol. Valencia’s lord Sends messengers, my chief. Abd. Conduct them hither. [The soldier goes out and re-enters with Elmina, disguised, and an attendant. Car. (springing forward to the attendant.) Oh! take me hence, Diego! take me hence With thee, that I may see my mother’s face At morning when I wake. Here dark-brow’d men Frown strangely, with their cruel eyes, upon us. Take me with thee, for thou art good and kind, And well I know thou lov’st me, my Diego! Abd. Peace, boy!—What tidings, Christian, from thy lord? Is he grown humbler?—doth he set the lives Of these fair nurslings at a city’s worth? Alph. (rushing forward impatiently.) Say not he doth!—Yet wherefore art thou here? If it be so, I could weep burning tears For very shame! If this can be, return! Tell him, of all his wealth, his battle-spoils, I will but ask a war-horse and a sword, And that beside him in the mountain-chase, And in his halls, and at his stately feasts, My place shall be no more! But no!—I wrong, I wrong my father! Moor, believe it not: He is a champion of the Cross and Spain, Sprung from the Cid!—and I, too, I can die As a warrior’s high-born child! Elm. Alas, alas! And wouldst thou die, thus early die, fair boy? What hath life done to thee, that thou shouldst cast Its flower away, in very scorn of heart, Ere yet the blight be come? Alph. That voice doth sound—— Abd. Stranger, who art thou?—this is mockery! speak! Elm. (throwing off a mantle and helmet, and embracing her sons.) My boys! whom I have rear’d through many hours Of silent joys and sorrows, and deep thoughts Untold and unimagined; let me die With you, now I have held you to my heart, And seen once more the faces, in whose light My soul hath lived for years! Car. Sweet mother! now Thou shalt not leave us more. Abd. Enough of this! Woman! what seek’st thou here? How hast thou dared To front the mighty thus amidst his hosts? Elm. Think’st thou there dwells no courage but in breasts That set their mail against the ringing spears, When helmets are struck down? Thou little know’st Of nature’s marvels. Chief! my heart is nerved To make its way through things which warrior men, Ay, they that master death by field or flood, Would look on, ere they braved! I have no thought, No sense of fear! Thou’rt mighty! but a soul Wound up like mine is mightier, in the power Of that one feeling pour’d through all its depths, Than monarchs with their hosts? Am I not come To die with these my children? Abd. Doth thy faith Bid thee do this, fond Christian? Hast thou not The means to save them? Elm. I have prayers, and tears, And agonies!—and he, my God—the God Whose hand, or soon or late, doth find its hour To bow the crested head—hath made these things Most powerful in a world where all must learn That one deep language, by the storm call’d forth From the bruised reeds of earth! For thee, perchance, Affliction’s chastening lesson hath not yet Been laid upon thy heart; and thou may’st love To see the creatures, by its might brought low, Humbled before thee. [She throws herself at his feet. Conqueror, I can kneel! I, that drew birth from princes, bow myself E’en to thy feet! Call in thy chiefs, thy slaves, If this will swell thy triumph, to behold The blood of kings, of heroes, thus abased! Do this, but spare my sons! Alph. (attempting to raise her.) Thou shouldst not kneel Unto this infidel! Rise, rise, my mother! This sight doth shame our house! Abd. Thou daring boy! They that in arms have taught thy father’s land How chains are worn, shall school that haughty mien Unto another language. Elm. Peace, my son! Have pity on my heart! Oh, pardon, chief! He is of noble blood. Hear, hear me yet! Are there no lives through which the shafts of heaven May reach your soul? He that loves aught on earth, Dares far too much, if he be merciless! Is it for those, whose frail mortality Must one day strive alone with God and death, To shut their souls against th’ appealing voice Of nature, in her anguish? Warrior, man, To you, too, ay, and haply with your hosts, By thousands and ten thousands marshall’d round, And your strong armour on, shall come that stroke Which the lance wards not! Where shall your high heart Find refuge then, if in the day of might Woe hath lain prostrate, bleeding at your feet, And you have pitied not? Abd. These are vain words. Elm. Have you no children?—fear ye not to bring The lightning on their heads? In your own land Doth no fond mother, from the tents beneath Your native palms, look o’er the deserts out, To greet your homeward step? You have not yet Forgot so utterly her patient love— For is not woman’s in all climes the same?— That you should scorn my prayer! Oh heaven! his eye Doth wear no mercy! Abd. Then it mocks you not. I have swept o’er the mountains of your land, Leaving my traces, as the visitings Of storms upon them! Shall I now be stay’d? Know, unto me it were as light a thing, In this my course, to quench your children’s lives, As, journeying through a forest, to break off The young wild branches that obstruct the way With their green sprays and leaves. Elm. Are there such hearts Amongst thy works, O God? Abd. Kneel not to me. Kneel to your lord! on his resolves doth hang His children’s doom. He may be lightly won By a few bursts of passionate tears and words. Elm. (rising indignantly.) Speak not of noble men! He bears a soul Stronger than love or death. Alph. (with exultation.) I knew ’twas thus! He could not fail! Elm. There is no mercy, none, On this cold earth! To strive with such a world, Hearts should be void of love! We will go hence, My children! we are summon’d. Lay your heads, In their young radiant beauty, once again To rest upon this bosom. He that dwells Beyond the clouds which press us darkly round, Will yet have pity, and before His face We three will stand together! Moslem! now Let the stroke fall at once! Abd. ’Tis thine own will. These might e’en yet be spared. Elm. Thou wilt not spare! And he beneath whose eye their childhood grew, And in whose paths they sported, and whose ear From their first lisping accents caught the sound Of that word—Father—once a name of love— Is——Men shall call him steadfast. Abd. Hath the blast Of sudden trumpets ne’er at dead of night, When the land’s watchers fear’d no hostile step, Startled the slumberers from their dreamy world, In cities, whose heroic lords have been Steadfast as thine? Elm. There’s meaning in thine eye, More than thy words. Abd. (pointing to the city.) Look to yon towers and walls! Think you no hearts within their limits pine, Weary of hopeless warfare, and prepared To burst the feeble links which bind them still Unto endurance. Elm. Thou hast said too well. But what of this? Abd. Then there are those, to whom The Prophet’s armies not as foes would pass Yon gates, but as deliverers. Might they not In some still hour, when weariness takes rest, Be won to welcome us? Your children’s steps May yet bound lightly through their father’s halls! Alph. (indignantly.) Thou treacherous Moor! Elm. Let me not thus be tried Beyond all strength, O heaven! Abd. Now, ’tis for thee, Thou Christian mother! on thy sons to pass The sentence—life or death! The price is set On their young blood, and rests within thy hands. Alph. Mother! thou tremblest! Abd. Hath thy heart resolved? Elm. (covering her face with her hands.) My boy’s proud eye is on me, and the things Which rush in stormy darkness through my soul Shrink from his glance. I cannot answer here. Abd. Come forth. We’ll commune elsewhere. Car. (to his mother.) Wilt thou go? Oh! let me follow thee! Elm. Mine own fair child! Now that thine eyes have pour’d once more on mine The light of their young smile, and thy sweet voice Hath sent its gentle music through my soul, And I have felt the twining of thine arms— How shall I leave thee? Abd. Leave him, as ’twere but For a brief slumber, to behold his face At morning, with the sun’s. Alph. Thou hast no look For me, my mother! Elm. Oh! that I should live To say, I dare not look on thee! Farewell, My first-born, fare thee well! Alph. Yet, yet beware! It were a grief more heavy on thy soul, That I should blush for thee, than o’er my grave That thou shouldst proudly weep! Abd. Away! we trifle here. The night wanes fast. Come forth! Elm. One more embrace! My sons, farewell! [Exeunt Abdullah with Elmina and her Attendant. Alph. Hear me yet once, my mother! Art thou gone? But one word more! [He rushes out, followed by Carlos.